


Beg, Sweet Darlin'

by Valmasy



Category: Star Trek
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, M/M, Rimming, Spock is not a tree Jim, obligatory sex pollen, trees as a sexual allergen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-22 07:47:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8278273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valmasy/pseuds/Valmasy
Summary: They’re walking for a few minutes when the breeze picks back up. Above them, a branch creaks and cracks. Instinctively, Jim shifts forward, pushing Uhura aside. He takes the face full of pink powder, instead of a branch -that’s his luck-, that tumbles down towards Uhura, because of course he does. He feels her hand slip from his as he reels back, immediately coughing, dragging in a breath, and coughing again. By then, Spock's tricorder is signaling an alarming amount of beeps, and Uhura's urgent cry of Jim's name is the last thing he hears before the ground rushes up to meet him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic in the Star Trek fandom, and it's an obligatory sex pollen fic (sort of). Enjoy!

Jim edges along the craggy path, gaze darting between the pale trunks around them. The wind is still now, and the forest is quiet beyond Uhura and Spock’s echoing steps. He’s left his phaser on his hip, but his fingers hover near it as they walk. 

“Captain, I believe it would be wise to head back,” Spock says, and Nyota murmurs her agreement. They’ve strayed from the garden dinner at Jim’s insistence, but he can tell they’re questioning him now when nothing fruitful has come from it. He stops and strains his hearing, but nothing greets him. He sighs and turns to his companions. 

“Fine, you’re right,” Jim decides, making a shooing motion for them to head back. They’re walking for a few minutes when the breeze picks back up. Above them, a branch creaks and cracks. Instinctively, Jim shifts forward, pushing Uhura aside. He takes the face full of pink powder, instead of a branch -that’s his luck-, that tumbles down towards Uhura, because _of course_ he does. He feels her hand slip from his as he reels back, immediately coughing, dragging in a breath, and coughing again. By then, Spock's tricorder is signaling an alarming amount of beeps, and Uhura's urgent cry of Jim's name is the last thing he hears before the ground rushes up to meet him.

Strong arms catch Jim before impact, but he's already lost to unconsciousness.

When he wakes up, Jim's head is pounding, beating at his closed eyes until he groans and tries to pry them open.

"Just once," and that's Bones, and Jim knows he's in for it. "I'd like a beam-down to go nice and easy. You're still alive, though, so I know that's a damn Georgian pipe dream!"

Jim winces.

Bones keeps going at a louder than normal tone even as he turns to see Jim clutching his head. "Serves you right, Jimbo! Maybe next time when the Aaamazzarite tell you not wander their damn forest, you'll damn well listen!"

"I thought I heard fighting," Jim defends, rubbing at his temples and only grunting a little when Bones jabs him in the neck with a hypospray.

"That should help with the headache," Bones says as the blessed coolness of relief tingles through Jim's system. There's a spike of...something else in its path, but Jim dismisses it as exhaustion and starts to sit up. "And the fight you heard was the Corralite Trees. The Aaamazzarite Ambassador informed Spock that their coral arms imitate snarling when swaying together."

"Oh." God, Jim feels dumb.

"Yeah, oh," Bones scoffs and moves around the curtained off area around Jim's bed. "Thankfully, you were the only one hi-"

"What was that powder?" Jim interrupts, and Bones rolls his eyes as he sets up another hypospray. "I feel like I can still smell it. It's..." He makes a face, scrunching his face up in a way that Bones absolutely does not find endearing.

"Sweet?" Bones asks.

"Acrid," Jim says after a moment of thought. "Feels like I can taste it too?"

"Nasal reaction," Bones dismisses easily, holding a scanner in front of Jim's head and looking at his nasal cavities. "Don't worry too much over it. It should dissipate soon."

"What was it?" Jim asks again, curling two fingers around Bones' wrist. Bones' pulse is reassuring under his touch, and Bones gives him a slightly fond curve of his mouth.

"Just a branch ground to dust, picked the wrong time, right place," Bones says, but his lips quirk further, and Jim narrows his eyes.

"What aren't you telling me?" Jim asks flatly, a hint of command for information in his tone. He squeezes Bones' wrist and ignores Bones' indulgent expression. 

"I'm not telling you how pissed off I am that you were brought into my medbay from a mission. Again. Unconscious. _Again_." Bones pulls his hand away to close up the scanner.

"It's not exactly my favorite experience either," Jim mutters, dropping his hands to lean back on his palms. Bones snorts as he sets the scanner aside. Jim blinks and frowns at the lingering blur to his vision. He licks his lips and tries not to grimace at the acrid taste in the back of his mouth. "How's the assembly? Did I fuck anything up with the Aaamazzarite council?"

Bones must take pity on Jim then, because he's pressing between Jim's legs and lifting his chin to press a slow, lingering kiss to his mouth. "Everything's fine, Jim," he assures him. "Spock and Uhura smoothed things over. The Ambassador is just concerned for your welfare."

"I'm fine though, right?" Jim murmurs, watching Bones' mouth before dragging his gaze back up to Bones'. "I feel like I need a shower."

Bones' mouth quirks again, but he steps back and turns to the data PADD on the counter nearby. "You're good to go. Make sure it's not a hot shower, though."

"Why?" Jim asks, hopping off the bed and straightening his clothes. As he does, he finds his fingers lingering on the rough material of his undershirt. He fingers the hem, looking up as he waits for Bones' answer. 

"Because it'll only exacerbate the nasal affliction," Bones replies in his 'damn it, Jim, can't you just take my word as your physician' voice. "Now get out of here; some of us still have work to do. Call me if any of the symptoms worsen."

Jim purses his mouth a little, fingers still stroking his shirt. "Right...Yeah, of course. See you later?" 

"What? Oh, yeah. Yeah," Bones answers, though he's clearly lost in entering Jim's information in his PADD, so Jim rolls his eyes and leaves. The Captain's Quarters and his shower, hot water despite Bones' instructions, are singing a siren's song, and he is ready to relax.

Jim passes over the sonic shower for a real, water-down-your-back shower. He turns the temp up and braces both hands on the shower stall. He ignores the twitching in his fingertips as they slip and grip at the porcelain tiles. He ducks his head under the spray and watches the water swirl down the drain at his feet. 

His eyes are lidded against the water, and he parts his mouth to wet his lips. His tongue drags along his lower lip and catches at the chapped skin. The chapped skin doesn't surprise him; what surprises him is the immediate stirring of his dick.

So he does it again, passes his tongue over the rough spot on his lip and thinks of Bones, thinks of Bones' teeth digging in and drawing blood. His dick is now half-hard against his thigh, but he leaves his hands against the wall.

He thinks about jerking off in the shower, just a quick, dirty handjob before he washes, but he huffs out a yawn and dismisses the idea. He washes perfunctory, skipping past his dick to his legs then rinsing off.

By the time he's done, though, he's panting and a little lightheaded. He fumbles out of the shower and barely glances at his reflection in the mirror as he makes his way to his bed. 

The sheets are cool when he drops into them, and they slip against his skin like a caress. It's driving him mad. The touch seems only to heighten the flush of his skin, and he squirms around on the bed, trying to get comfortable. 

It's not easy. His dick continues to harden and it's curving up towards his stomach. He can feel the first beads of precum drop against his naval. 

"What the fuck..." He groans, flinging an arm over his eyes.

He's not really in the mood to deal with it; he's tired and embarrassed and just wants to sleep. His other hand rests on his chest, and it takes him a moment to realize he's stroking his thumb just under his nipple.

"Fuck," he groans again. "Fuck it." He wastes no time in wrapping a hand around himself and stroking. He can just do it quick and go to sleep.

But as his body strains up into his hand, that acrid taste comes back stronger, and he can't stop licking his lips. The blur in his vision is getting worse, and he squeezes his eyes shut against it.

He's so hard, throbbing in his hand, and somehow he just knows that it's not going to be enough.

He absolutely does not whimper at the realization; it's a groan of frustration. He continues to stroke his cock, though, thumbing at his tip and listening to his breath come short and hitched.

He strokes faster, arching off the bed. His heels are digging into the covers, and the first moan slips past his teeth.

"Oh, fuck...come on," he almost begs. He can feel the edge so close, just out of reach, and his hand feels as blurry as his vision as he races for his orgasm. It's right there... It's right...

Fifteen minutes later, what feels like hours, Jim's on his knees, cheek pressed to his bed. He has two fingers buried in his ass. They're as deep as he can get them, and his hips are jerking back against his hand, but he hasn't come yet.

And he wants to cry; he's so aroused, so on edge, so built up, and he just can't get himself there. 

He's never had this problem before, except when copious amounts of alcohol were involved.

He's near mindless with the need to get off. His skin is slick with sweat, his wrist is aching. And that's not to mention the furious throbbing of his cock. It's leaking a steady stream of precum, angry red and caught between his stomach and the bed. His balls are tight, and everything just feels like a single touch will set him off.

But it won't. He heaves himself up, pulling his fingers free with a hiss. His hole clenches around the new emptiness, and Jim is dizzy with it.

He sways forward a few steps and nearly sinks to his knees. He catches the edge of the desk and fumbles for the communicator he dropped there earlier.

"You're supposed to be sleeping," Bones says mildly before Jim can manage much more than a terse clip of the doctor's name. "Let me guess, you took a hot shower."

Bones doesn't sound all that surprised to hear from Jim, and Jim clenches his teeth and tries not to rut forward against the side of his desk.

He fails, and his moan is audible through the communicator. 

Bones sighs. "The things I put up with for you. Think you can make it to medical?" 

"Yes," Jim breathes out, and it's not so much an answer to Bones, but to the friction on his dick as he rolls his hips against the polished wood of the desk.

It's not...silent on the other end of the communicator, but Bones' breathing has gone shallow, and Jim's hips stutter against the desk.

"My god," Bones mutters after a moment, an hour or a week it feels like to Jim. "Pull yourself together, man, and get down here."

The communicator chirps off, and Jim is left grinding his teeth. He can't process why Bones isn't just coming to him. He'd question it later, but for now, he attempts to stand straight and find clothes to pull on.

He just barely manages to pull on his briefs. He's cursing the tight, black material by the time the waistline settles against his hips. The front of them is already damp, and Jim is shaking. 

He _needs_ to come so badly. He's so sure each physical sensation will be the last, but he wobbles forward towards his door and can only cling to it as it slides open.

He can't fathom attempting any more clothes; the very idea of any sort of cloth brushing against his skin is torture, and so he foregoes dressing any further. Besides, he thinks -as much as his foggy mind will allow- that it's late enough that the paths to the medbay will be clear.

He leans heavily on the wall as he practically drags himself towards the turbolift. The medbay is just three floors down from the crew quarters' floors, but it feels like it's on a whole other spaceship.

Jim's aware his perceptions are exaggerating at the moment. He's beyond being able to care.

The hallway is blessedly empty, and he makes it into the turbolift without embarrassing himself. He wants to slide down the wall, or rub himself off against it, but he restrains himself. Barely. 

When the lift deposits him on the medical floor, he pries his fingers from the handrail and practically crawls out of the lift. He pauses, leaning his forehead against the cool panel of the wall, listening absently to the lift door sliding shut behind him. 

Without conscious thought, his hand is rubbing his thigh, fingers stroking ever closer to the strain of his erection. His hips roll forward, and he -

"Captain?" 

Normally, Spock's voice was a calming presence. Now, though, his First Officer's level, but confused, inquiry causes Jim to jerk in guilty surprise, smacking his face against the wall.

Jim falls to a crouch, clutching his face as he moans pitifully behind his hands. He hunches forward as Spock takes a few steps closer.

"I am sorry to have startled you, Captain. Are you in need of assistance?" Spock asks.

Jim is hit by a wall of heat that can only be attributed to Spock's Vulcan nature. He bites nearly through his lip to keep _that_ moan behind his teeth.

"No!" He says, strangled and possibly hysterical. 

"Captain - _Jim_ \- you're bleeding. Clearly, you must see Doctor McCoy for medical attention." Spock crouches down beside Jim, and Jim has just a second before Spock's _warm, strong, touch me, touch me_ hands are scooping Jim off the floor.

Jim is stiff, but he's on his feet. Blood from his lip seeps out from his fingers. It's done nothing to douse the lust racing through his system.

Spock's hands slide from beneath Jim's arms, and he grips one of Jim's biceps. His other hand tilts Jim's chin up to examine the wound. His gaze comes up to Jim's and searches. After a moment, his grip tightens just a little. Jim's sure his pupils have probably eaten the blue of his eyes. 

"Allow me to escort you to medical. I believe you are unwell."

Jim can't even snort at the understatement. He's too mortified by the fact that he's two seconds away from jumping Spock's bones and riding his extremely attractive Vulcan into the floor and to completion.

Spock's eyebrow shoots up sharply, and Jim's legs go to jelly as he realizes he's said that out loud. Spock holds him up steadily, of course.

"I confess that particular vernacular escapes my knowledge, though the intent is clear. I must remind you that I'm in a monogamous relationship with Lieutenant Uhura, and I'm certain she would disapprove."

"Spock," Jim says, forcing as much of his command tone as he can. It doesn't last, and he's clinging to his First Officer, desperately pressing into him. "I need... I need..."

"Medical, yes, Jim. Come along," and by 'come along', Spock means 'try to keep up before I actually bridal carry you to Doctor McCoy.'

Which Jim only figures out as he stumbles and then Spock is, indeed, swinging him up into his arms to speed the process along.

Jim's brain short-circuits, a haze of animalistic pleasure blinding him momentarily. His arm is around Spock's neck, fingers curling up into the black hair at his nape. He's so impossibly hot against Jim's skin that Jim tries to press into him, twisting in Spock's hold to touch him as much as possible.

Spock's steps don't falter, but his brow is down and drawn, and there's a tightness to his grip.

"Jim, please try to resist," Spock says, and Jim can feel the rumble of his voice through his throat where Jim finds his mouth pressed. He can't bring himself to pull away, leaving his lips against Spock's skin as he parts them and pants heavily.

His fingers are absently tugging at Spock's short hair.

With his face buried in Spock's neck, Jim misses the sharp brightness of the medbay's lights. On his next inhale, though, the sterilized scents peek past Spock's clean heat, and he groans.

Spock's breathing hitches once, nearly imperceptible but for how close Jim has molded them together.

"Doctor McCoy, I have brought the Captain for assistance," Spock announces, and Jim's delirious mind fancies Spock's voice is a little strained.

Jim doesn't hear Bones' response because he's drowning the doctor out with his protests as hands that aren't Spock's are trying to pry them apart. He digs his fingers into Spock's shoulders, scrambling to keep a hold of him.

"Doctor, this is not working," Spock says, and that's definitely his exasperated tone. Jim hates and loves that tone, depending on who causes it. 

"Jim." Spock's brown eyes are suddenly all Jim can see. His breath seizes up, and he strains forward to connect their mouths. Bones' hands are still keeping him back. "You must let the doctor treat you."

"Spo-" Bones' hand closes over Jim's mouth, and Jim immediately melts, body and subconscious recognizing the earthy cologne that clings to Bones no matter how sterile his medbay is. 

Spock takes the distraction, hastily - for a Vulcan - extracting himself from Jim's loosening hold. 

"I had incorrectly assumed the matter handled, Doctor. You assured the Ambassador that -"

"It _was_ handled," Bones grounds out, dealing with a wriggling Jim as he tries to turn in Bones' arms.

"Fascinating," Spock responds dryly. "I'll leave you to it then, Doctor."

And he does, and Bones is left with Jim who is now snaking his hands up beneath Bones' blue shirt. 

"Hobgoblin," Bones mutters, but looks down at Jim's flushed face with a soft expression. "I said no hot showers."

Jim's eyes go lidded as he sags forward into Bones. He wets his lips, drawing the bloodied one between his teeth.

"Damn it, Jim," Bones sighs and hauls Jim into the curtained room they'd been in earlier. "Only you would have a sexually-allergic response to fucking trees."

"Shut up and fuck me," Jim growls, shoving Bones against the biobed and trying to get his pants down.

Bones grabs both of Jim's wrists, pulling them up and away, and ignores Jim's heated protest. "You really think you're in charge here, Jim?" He asks, mouth curving into a smirk. 

"I'm your Captain," Jim grunts, beyond caring about his usual reservation for pulling rank.

Bones snorts and shoves Jim back a step. It's easy with how Jim is putty to any touch now. "If that's the way you wanna play it, then I'm pulling rank as your CMO and ordering you on the damn bed."

His tone is rough, and Jim shivers at the sound of it. And as he goes to disobey, though, he finds himself already clamoring onto the bed. "Wha -"

"Good boy," Bones mocks him right before manhandling him around until he's on all fours. The soft sheets rub against his skin, and Jim moans, dropping his head between his arms.

"Len," He breathes, a more intimate nickname he reserves for the bedroom. "Len, please."

"Yeah, I know," Bones replies, settling against Jim's side so he can run his hand down along Jim's flank. The skin flushes in his wake, muscles tensing as Jim trembles. "You must've been hard for so long. You try to take care of this on your own?"

"Yeah." Jim's knuckles are white where his hands are fisted on the bed. The muscles in his arms and legs are twitchy and tight, and Bones has the urge to bite.

So he does. He ducks in and scrapes his teeth over the curve of Jim's hip, just above the waistband of his briefs. 

Jim hisses, but when Bones bites down, Jim moans long and low. "Yes," he draws out, the word punched out as he tips towards begging for more. "Len, I need... I want... Fucking, just...come _on_."

"You've soaked through your underwear, Jim," Bones murmurs, like Jim couldn't fucking tell. He moves his hand over and around Jim's waist to palm Jim's straining cock through his briefs.

It earns Bones a hoarse shout, and Jim's arms give out, dropping his chest and chin to the bed. "Please. Please..."

"Wish you were always so behaved," Bones teases, stroking Jim slowly. He can feel how on edge Jim is, and he's delighting in it. It may seem a little mean, but he figures Jim owes him one. Or twenty.

Jim's eyes are squeezed shut, but he's careful not to dislodge Bones' hand. Bones, who is teasing him, who will take care of him, who’s taking his sweet-ass time.

"I swear to God, if you don't hurry up an-"

 ** _Crack_**. Jim reels, scrambling to center himself on the bed as his mind shorts out. His cock jerks and precum drools out against Bones’ hand. 

"You were saying?" Bones asks mildly, rubbing Jim's ass where he'd smacked it.

Jim tries to twist around, mouth opening and shutting without sound as he sucks in a breath. Finally, he manages a rasped: " _More!_ "

"I don't think you got it in you right now, kid," Bones says, and Jim can _hear_ his fucking smirk. He grinds his teeth and tries to thrust into Bones' hand instead.

"Stop forcing me," Bones warns, tone drawling and amused. "I'm going to take care of you, darlin', but in my own time."

Jim forces himself to still, but the effort leaves him digging his forehead against the bed.

Bones hums his approval and teases his hands just beneath Jim's briefs, peeling the soaked fabric down Jim's hips and legs and off to drop them on the floor. Jim's cock is swinging free, but it's straining towards his stomach, angry red and drooling precum. Frankly, Bones' mouth waters at the sight.

He fits a hand around Jim's cock and revels in the moan Jim gives him in turn. The stroke of his fist is already wet and easy, sliding over Jim's cock to squeeze up around the head. Jim's hips buck, and Bones follows the movement with his hand, riding the motion as he leans down and kisses at Jim's spine. 

"Fuck my fist, darlin'," he orders, whiskey rough. "Show me how badly you need it."

Jim's moan breaks on a sob, and he has to shift his body to give himself the leverage to thrust into Bones' hand. It's good. Too good. He cranes his head to the side to watch the tip of his dick disappear through Bones' fingers. It's awkward and should hurt, but he can't feel anything beyond the damp press of his lover's mouth and the tightness of his hand. He fucks into it harder, pleasure overtaking everything, but it's not enough. 

He whines. He's been on edge too long, but even Bones' hand isn't enough to push him over, to sate him. He needs more.

"Moremoremore," He's chanting and Bones has to reach down to grind the heel of his palm against his own dick to stem the lust.

"God almighty, kid, you're gonna kill me."

Bones knows that when Jim is back to normal, he'll make Bones pay for all the 'kid's he's spouting, but for now... Bones can't help it. He's entranced by the full-body flush on Jim's skin, the sweat-slick squirming, the desperate mewls escaping Jim's throat that he's sure Jim doesn't realize he's making.

Bones groans against Jim's spine and shoves two fingers into Jim without warning.

Jim arches, biting back a cry, and heaves himself back against Bones' fingers.

He rocks between both of Bones' hands, and sobs out another pleasured moan when Bones moves around to lick into Jim alongside his fingers.

Bones' groan is muffled against Jim's body, tongue twisting around his fingers as they curl up and spread Jim open further for him. 

Jim ruts back against Bones, fingers scrabbling uselessly at the biobed.

"Len," Jim moans, tone fracturing with need. "Len, please!"

Bones pulls away, licking his lips, and works his cock out of his uniform pants. He hopes distantly that he'll last long enough to give Jim what he needs.

Not that Jim would probably notice, Bones muses. He lets go of Jim's cock, his hand filthy with precum and uses it to coat his own cock. 

It's gonna stretch and burn like a motherfucker, but Bones knows it'll only push Jim higher, burn him up more. He yanks Jim closer along the bed, delighting in the broken moan it gets him.

Then, he's thrusting home, sliding into Jim with a slow, agonizing push of his hips.

Bones can feel Jim struggling to get his feet fully on the floor, but he’s pinning Jim against the edge of the bed with the weight of his body. It's doing delicious things to his cock caught in the twitching, clinging heat of Jim's body. 

He grunts and shunts his hips forward, and Jim cries out as Bones slides deeper into him. His cock is leaking copiously against the bed, and he sobs at the friction as Bones starts a heady, steady pace. Their hips collide together against the bed, and Jim can only hold on and feel.

Bones is hot and thick inside him, and Jim is pushing back, trying to get Bones deeper, faster. Bones' grip on his hips is tight, though, keeping Jim as still as he can, making him take it how he wanted.

But it's not how _Jim_ wants it. He wants it fast, now, hours ago. He aches all over, one raw nerve of pleasure that Bones is scraping over, and over, and over.

"Fuck, fuck, Bones," Jim hisses, shoving back into Bones hard enough that they both stumble.

"Christ, Jim," Bones pants, steadying him with a branding hand on Jim's bicep. But Jim isn't done; he's circling a hand around Bones' cock, stroking tightly to make sure he has Bones' attention.

He does.

Bones’ gaze is dark and probably as blown as Jim’s. Jim groans and drags Bones forward by his dick to kiss him. It’s messy and wild, sharp teeth and eager tongues. It’s perfect, and Jim wants to climb him like a tree. 

He twists and pushes Bones down onto the bed and mad scrambling up into Bones’ lap. He kneels up and settles against Bones properly, ass grinding down against Bones’ cock in agitated, eager motions. 

“Jim,” Bones groans, hands spreading up Jim’s thighs to his hips. He digs his fingers into Jim’s hips and drags Jim back and forth along his cock. “Jim, you-”

“Shut up.” Jim tilts his head back, throat working as he grasps Bones’ cock and wastes no time in sinking back on it. Their groans are simultaneous; Bones’ is deep and Jim’s is hoarse, but they sound good together. Bones has always thought so.

And now, he’s helpless to do much more than watch and drink in the sight of Jim just _taking_ what he wants. He’s allowed to keep his hands on Jim’s hips, keeping him steady as he rocks against Bones at a furious pace. 

It’s all he wants, and Jim is blissing out. Bones’ cock is strong and thick inside him, and he’s fucking back on it as fast as his knees will let him. He trusts Bones to keep them proper on the table and let’s the pleasure overwhelm him.

Bones recognizes the moment Jim gives himself over to the heat, the urge. His movements are frantics, his moans breathless, but loud. Jim’s hands are roving over Bones’ chest, pressing to the table. Sweat is rolling down their skin, and Bones can’t catch his breath as his orgasm slams into him with power of a _sehlat_ from Vulcan. 

He knows he’s probably bruises Jim’s hips as his vision whites-out, but he distantly hears Jim chanting his name and curses in a throaty tone. A moment later, Jim’s mouth crashes down on his, splitting his lip against his teeth or reopening Jim’s split lip; he doesn’t know which at the moment, because Jim’s cock is spilling his release between them, and it’s just such a satisfying feeling for Bones that he bites smugly into the kiss. 

Jim shakes and shakes, trembling through his orgasm like it’s wringing his very fucking life from him. He’s kissing Bones, but he feels draining, empty, and limp. He melts down against Bones and lets his eyes slide shut as the pounding of his heart beats against Bones’ chest. 

He drifts, and he comes back to Bones’ hands smoothing slowly along his back and thighs, up and down, repetitive, comforting. Most of the urgency has been fucked out of him, and his head feels much clearer. It’s a relief.

“Len,” Jim rasps, voice wrecked. 

“Mm?” Bones hums. 

“Do you think Spock would be willing to pretend like that never happened?”

Bones’ laugh is not reassuring.


End file.
